Penpals
by FemmeFerret
Summary: A "What if Draco went to Beauxbatons?" tale. Draco tries to find his place in the world between his family's history, his attendance at Beauxbatons and ties to England, and an unexpected romance with Harry. Harry/Draco.
1. Chapter 1

Penpals

::

IN WHICH DRACO IS EIGHT

"It's not fair!" said Draco angrily for the tenth time. For emphasis, he slammed his pumpkin juice down onto the breakfast table. One of the attendant house-elves hurried over to his side, a rag in hand, and Draco pelted him with a muffin.

"Draco," murmured Narcissa from behind a pale blue teacup a second before Lucius barked, "Draco! Comport yourself as is befitting a Malfoy!"

Draco ignored the warnings with a toss of his head, his hands clenched into fists on either side of his plate. "I want to go to Hogwarts," he insisted, two high spots of color on his cheeks.

Lucius glowered at his only child from the other end of the table. "Your mother and I have already decided. You're going to Beauxbatons, and if you argue again with me again, I'll break your broom," he growled.

Draco scowled. "If you do, Mother will buy me a new one," he said with flippant confidence.

"I most certainly will not," said his mother mildly.

Draco's scowl deepened. "Severus will! He's the only one who really loves me!" his declared passionately, upsetting his glass of pumpkin juice again.

"Severus would buy you a cauldron; good luck getting that airborne," said his mother dryly.

Draco looked thunderously at her, and when a house-elf offered him another pumpkin juice he bared his teeth and growled, "You want to die?"

Lucius frowned at his wild child, who brandished a butter knife at the cowering house-elf. "Narcissa, see that Draco spends less time with McNaire's son."

"Why do I have to go there? You went to Hogwarts. Father went to Hogwarts. Severus went to Hogwarts and even teaches there!" cried Draco, judging his father's murderous intentions towards his broom to be empty threats.

"We've already discussed this, Draco," said Narcissa before he could name anyone else. She looked disapprovingly at the pumpkin juice stain on the tablecloth and sighed. "Was that really necessary?"

"Yes," he said surly.

Lucius threw his napkin over his barely touched breakfast and pushed his chair away from the table. "I am going to the Ministry," he announced, and he looked pointedly at Narcissa. "See if you can't control your son."

"Yes, dear," said Narcissa, turning her head for Lucius to kiss her cheek. "Do tell the Minister that dinner is at seven tonight, won't you?"

Lucius nodded stiffly and walked towards the enormous fireplace. "Dobby!" he ordered, never breaking his stride. "My cane!"

Dobby scurried towards him, head bowed and bits of muffin falling from his sorry looking pillow case. Lucius grabbed his cane with a sneer and held it threateningly over Dobby's cowering form. With a last glare at Draco, Lucius threw a fistful of Floo Powder into the grate. "Ministry of Magic, the Minister's Office," he said loudly and disappeared in a rush of green flames.

Narcissa turned to Draco. "Temper tantrums. How very childish and peasant of you. Perhaps I should just send you to live with the Weasleys. You'd fit in extraordinarily well," she said coolly, her eyes hard with disapproval.

"The Weasleys are a bunch of blood traitors!" exclaimed Draco, looking scandalized.

"Yes, and going to Hogwarts, too," said Narcissa.

Draco scowled. "And blood traitors don't go to Beauxbatons?" he asked sarcastically, his face very red.

Narcissa raised a pale eyebrow. "It pains me to think, Draco, that the Galleons I have spent on your tutors have only prepared your mind for base sarcasm and rhetorical questions. Severus would quite despair of you."

Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Narcissa continued. "Both your father and I agree that Hogwarts is not suitable for you. The fact that both your godfather and your parents attended has no baring on the matter," she said, giving her son a hard look. "Besides, no one achieves greatness by following in the footprints of another."

"Why isn't it suitable?" cried Draco, dangerously close to tears. His face was very hot and his eyes stung.

"We had never intended for you to go to Hogwarts," said his mother, looking critically at her nails. "Your father wanted to send you to Durmstrang, but that is so very far away, and I confess that I like having you nearby."

Draco hardly thought that France was close to home. You had to take an international Portkey to get there, and he had never liked traveling by Portkey. Hogwarts was only a few hours away by train. He could feel his throat tighten. It was all just so unfair! His lower lip began to tremble.

"Besides, this was all Severus' idea."

Draco blinked. Eight year-olds don't cry. "I thought he wanted to teach me potions," he said around the lump in his throat.

"He does," said Narcissa, looking knowingly at him. "Which is why you shall be spending the summer holiday with him while your father and I travel abroad. Severus thinks you'll be ready to apprentice with him in your seventh year if you spend this summer and every summer under his tutelage. You'll certainly be farther along than Hogwarts students planning to become Potions Masters; they aren't allowed to use their seventh year to apprentice like Beauxbaton's students are."

Draco stared at his mother, too surprised to pull on Dobby's ears when Dobby poured him more pumpkin juice.

"Can I take the blessed silence as your approval?" drawled Narcissa, an amused smirk on her cupid bow lips.

It was no fun to shout at his mother, who only said clever and sometimes funny things. It was fun to shout at his father, though. Lucius had passed down the genetic penchant for throwing things and turning very red when he got angry, and it was funny to watch because Narcissa never let Lucius punish him.

"I suppose," Draco drawled, leaning back in his chair as he had seen Narcissa do many times before. Relief surged through him. He could still be a Potions Master.

"So glad that you've agreed," said Narcissa dryly. She flicked open the Daily Prophet and said, "Dobby, pack Draco's things. We leave for Bordeaux in the morning."

"What?" squawked Draco, surging upright in his chair, his palms flat on the table, all semblance of aloofness abandoned.

Narcissa turned down a corner of the newspaper and peered at her son in pretty confusion, her grey eyes sparkling more fiercely than the hundreds of crystals in the chandelier above their heads. "Well, darling, don't you want to pick out your room in the new house?"

"What do you mean bored oh?" he demanded.

Narcissa winced. "Bordeaux, darling," she said. "Don't you see now how vital it is that we leave years before you start at Beauxbatons? Before you turn eleven we must rid you of your…accent," she said, looking faintly appalled.

"But I don't want to move!" said Draco angrily.

Narcissa blinked at him. "Why not?"

"Because!" shouted Draco, his face very red again.

"Incomplete sentences are not feats of mental prowess, Draco," said Narcissa calmly, turning back to her newspaper. "And do not take that tone of voice with me again or I _will _break your broom."

Draco glowered but said nothing else. For several minutes, the room was silent except for the occasional turn of the paper, and Draco picked over the last of his breakfast, thinking about what his mother had told him.

IN WHICH DRACO IS ELEVEN

"That'll be seven Galleons," said Ollivander, his moonstone colored eyes glinting in the dusty light.

Draco hadn't been sure about this Ollivander and his shop, but his mother had assured him that Ollivander's was the best, and Malfoys only had the best. The wand had felt good in his hand, warm and powerful. So it was without reluctance that he placed his Galleons on the table.

"It's been many years since an Ollivander's wand has gone to Beauxbatons," said Ollivander thoughtfully, sweeping the gold into an ornately carved box that scuttled across the counter when the lid shut. "Adelaide Rankin, nine inches, oak, unicorn horn filings." He shook his head. "My grandfather made that one. I don't use unicorn horn filings."

"Why not?" asked Draco, frowning. "Unicorn horns are very powerful, and the filings are used in many potions."

"Such as?" asked Ollivander, his great shaggy eyebrows rising into his hairline.

"Veritaserum," said Draco coolly. He heard his mother sigh from her seat in the corner.

"Don't forget your fitting at Madam Malkin's, Draco," she said, and she pulled a small red leather bound novel from her purse.

Ollivander's eyes gleamed. "And what is the shelf life of Veritaserum?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. He was not used to people other than Severus asking detailed questions about potions most children his age had only the faintest, if any, idea about. "Ninety-two years and 7 weeks," he said, smirking as he undoubtedly surpassed this foolish man's expectations.

"Yes, and the average life span of a witch or wizard?" Ollivander crooned.

"One hundred and forty," said Draco promptly, and as soon as the words were out of his mouth he understood. He felt his face heat. "Oh."

"Yes, quite," said Ollivander, and he looked appraisingly at Draco. "Although it is not unusual for a person to have more than one or two wands in his lifetime, he should not be forced to buy a new wand because his has reached its expiration date."

Narcissa turned a page languidly and checked her gold pocket watch.

"Look around you, Mr. Malfoy," said Ollivander, waving to the shelves full of wand boxes. "The wand chooses the wizard! Some of these wands have to wait over fifty years before they find the right owner."

Draco's face burned. Severus would have been harsher with him for having not thought things through, for trying to flaunt his knowledge and failing, but having a perfect stranger know his incompetence was more embarrassing.

Draco hated being embarrassed.

"Be sure to tell your professors that your wand is an Ollivander's," said Ollivander, handing Draco the receipt.

"That man was peculiar," declared Draco as soon as the door had swung shut behind him. "Are you sure we shouldn't have stayed in France for my wand?"

The corners of Narcissa's mouth turned up.

"I wish Severus lived in France. Then we could have gone to Paris for my uniform and not Diagon Ally," complained Draco, holding his wand in his hand. It felt very different from a ladle or a stirring rod, which were thicker and heavier.

"Put your wand away now, Draco," said Narcissa. "I'm going to leave you at Madam Malkin's and join your father for tea."

"What about my tea?" demanded Draco, but he slipped his wand into his sleeve.

"After your fitting, I will meet you at Florean's for ice cream," said Narcissa.

Draco brightened at the sound of that. Diagon Ally might not be Paris, but his mother took him to Florean's every summer for ice cream when she and father came to pick him up from Severus' manor. He gave his mother a kiss on her cheek and watched her for a moment as she stepped into the busy street of Diagon Alley. A beam of sunlight shifted over the awning, catching Narcissa in full. Her platinum blonde hair glimmered in the morning light, and people craned their necks to get a better glimpse of the beautiful Lady Malfoy. She glided through the crowd, never hurried or jostled.

Checking to make sure his wand was secure, Draco stepped in the opposite direction towards Madam Malkin's. The door was heavy to push open, and he had to brace his legs behind him and lean into the door to open it.

"Welcome!" called an assistant from behind the counter.

Draco wanted to say something about the door, but at that moment a flurry of velvet and maroon blocked his line of sight. Draco stepped back, alarmed, and clutched uselessly at a bolt of periwinkle taffeta.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

A funny gurgle escaped Draco's throat, and he could feel heat crawl up his cheeks as he stared into the face of Madam Malkin. He hastily released his grip on the fabric.

"Your uniform arrived this morning, Mr. Malfoy," she said, a measuring tape standing at attention over her shoulder. "If you'd just put it on behind the curtain there, dear."

Draco bristled at being called 'dear', but Madam Malkin was a very large woman and he didn't think that he had practiced Severus' sneer enough to pull it off.

"Such a shy boy," he heard Madam Malkin say to her assistant when Draco had pulled the curtain shut. "And skin and bones! He'll be swimming in his uniform," she said, chuckling. "He used to look more like his father, don't you know, but now he's more like Mrs. Malfoy—like a little bird.

Draco's face burned, and he yanked his robes off angrily. He couldn't wait to go back home, away from all of the stupid people like Ollivander and Madam Malkin. He came to England every summer, and every summer it was the same—shopkeepers tensing at the sight of his platinum blond hair, people on the street giving him a wide birth but careful, so very careful so as not to give him offense. When people heard his last name, they pulled their children away.

His anger drained out of him, however, when he saw his blue and grey silk uniform on the hanger.

He could tell without putting it on yet that the uniform would be too big for him, but that didn't bother him. Soon it would be tailored to fit him perfectly.

Carefully, but quickly, he pulled on the trousers, the silk dress shirt and vest, and eyed the satin ribbons at his throat and cuffs. Fifth years and above at Beauxbatons traded the long ribbons for a tie, but the lower years had to wear the ribbons in a bow. The bow was the only thing about the uniform that he wished he could change.

He'd balked at first at wearing anything but robes, but then his mother had explained that the British notions of Wizarding propriety did not extend to the French notion of fashion. And if a person needed to rely on Wizarding clothing to distinguish a pureblood, that person's opinion wasn't worth soliciting anyway.

"Haven't seen one of those uniforms before," said the mirror. "You look very handsome. Although the ribbons are rather effeminate, dear."

Draco glowered at the mirror and made a rude gesture he had learned from a mime on the streets of Marseilles.

The mirror made an insulted sound and Draco twitched the curtain open. He pressed his lips together tightly when Madam Malkin's assistant giggled at him from behind a bolt of pumpkin orange velvet.

"Well don't you look like a present!" exclaimed Madam Malkin, her measuring tape wriggling over her shoulder.

"I don't think so," said Draco coldly.

The smile froze on her face, and Draco squared his shoulders and clenched his fists. He stepped onto the stool and stared resolutely ahead of him.

"I didn't mean to offend you, Mr. Malfoy," Madam Malkin said hesitantly, her brown eyes darting nervously everywhere but at Draco's face.

The rest of the fitting was done in terse silence, Madam Malkin seeming to be in shock and somewhat near tears.

He was just leaving the dressing room in another set of robes for Madame Malkin to tailor when the door chime sounded. A skinny boy with the wildest black hair and green eyes behind round glasses stepped nervously into the store.

"Hello," called the assistant.

"Hi," said the boy shyly. "I need robes." Then, as though remembering, he added, "For Hogwarts."

"If you could just step on the stool, dear," said Madame Malkin, returning with her arms full of Draco's other robes. "Taffy will be with you in a minute."

The other boy stepped quickly onto the stool.

Draco stared at his outlandish clothes. "Are you wearing Muggle clothes?" he asked, not entirely sure. The clothes drowned the boy, and Draco wondered in he wasn't wearing some new sort of fashion.

"Yeah."

"Oh," said Draco, lifting his arm for the scissors to trim his sleeve.

"I'm Harry," said the boy, smiling.

"Draco Malfoy. I'm going to Beauxbatons."

"Oh," said Harry, looking confused. "Is that your uniform?"

Draco looked down at his robes at the pearls in the collar. "These are my dress robes for the fete in September."

"They're nice," said Harry.

"What house do you think you'll be in at Hogwarts?" asked Draco. Beauxbatons didn't have houses, but he had grown up hearing about them.

Harry's eyes clouded in confusion. "I don't know."

"My parents and godfather were in Slytherin," said Draco proudly. "Slytherin's the best house." He looked critically at Harry's short and skinny frame. "Although Ravenclaw's not too bad, I suppose. If you like to read. Do you like school?"

A funny expression came over Harry's face. "It's ok."

"Well, whatever you do, make sure you study for Potions. My godfather's the Potions Master at Hogwarts, and he's really…" Here Draco trailed off, trying to think of the right word to describe Severus.

"Strict?" suggested Taffy, a sour look about her mouth.

Draco glared at her. "He's the most brilliant Potions Master since Cadmus Salvio," he said coolly. "If he's strict it's because Potions is a hell of a lot more dangerous than sewing."

Madame Malkin huffed. "Now really, there's no need for such strong language, Mr. Malfoy."

Harry looked somewhat alarmed. "I've never taken Potions before," he confessed.

Draco's mouth dropped. "What? Your parents haven't taught you?" he asked incredulously.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "My parents died in a…they died," he said.

"Oh," said Draco at the same time as Taffy and Madame Malkin gasped.

Harry shrugged again. "It happened when I was a baby; I don't even remember them."

"Oh. Oh," sniffed Taffy rather wetly.

"Well, you have a month until your first class," said Draco awkwardly. "You've already bought your Potions books, right?"

Taffy sniffed again and looked at Draco as though to say he wasn't being very kind.

"The list only said to buy the one," said Harry, looking rather panicky.

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "What? One Potions text? Just the one?"

"Yeah," said Harry.

Draco snorted. "Severus isn't being as mean as I thought he would. He made me read four books on fungi last year! And two on Fire Salamander tails alone! If you're not doing anything after this, I could show you some more books you should buy."

Harry smiled broadly, his thin face brightening. "I'm with Hagrid," he said, shrugging his shoulder in the direction of the window. "I'd have to ask but…"

"Rubeus Hagrid dear?" asked Madame Malkin, surprised.

"Yes," said Harry. "He's helping me buy my things."

Both women looked mistily at him, and Harry ducked his head, clearly uncomfortable. As he did so, his hair shifted and a pink lightening bolt shaped scar was visible.

Draco's eyes widened. It was only years of training that kept him from blurting out Harry's full name. "I'm sure Hagrid won't mind," he said instead. "We can go get ice cream too. I'm to meet my mother after this."

"You're done, Mr. Malfoy. Shall I Floo these to your home?" asked Madame Malkin.

"No, our house elf will pick them up later," said Draco. "Ask Hagrid, Harry," he urged, hopping off the stool.

"Yeah," said Harry, looking excited. "I will."

Draco had to wait another fifteen minutes for Harry to be done. He helped Harry pick out a pair of brewing robes, which Draco insisted would be useful. "Where's Hagrid?" he asked as soon as they left the shop.

" 'Arry?" rumbled a voice behind Draco.

Draco turned and had to tilt his head back as far as it would go to stare into the face of the most enormous man he had ever seen. He was even bigger than Madame Maxime, who was a good five feet taller than Draco.

"Hi Hagrid! This is Draco Malfoy, Draco, this is Rubeus Hagrid. He invited us to have ice cream with his mum and then get more books for Potions," said Harry brightly. "His godfather's the Potions Master."

"Severus Snape," said Draco helpfully.

"I know Sev'rus Snape," said Hagrid. He didn't offer his hand to Draco.

In fact, Hagrid shiny black eyes darted towards Draco's pale blonde hair rather than Draco's face. Hagrid clapped an enormous hand on Harry's shoulder, nearly sending the boy to his knees. "Best 'ta be gettin on, 'arry. Gotta ge' you home soon," said Hagrid.

"The Dursley's won't care," objected Harry.

Draco noticed that Hagrid didn't refute that. "Sorry 'Arry, but I've gots to be sayin' no," said Hagrid firmly.

Harry's face fell.

"Never mind, Harry," said Draco, reaching into his robes where he kept his Mokeshin bag. He pulled out a miniature quill and a piece of parchment. "I'll owl you some books so you can study. What's your address?" he asked.

"Now jus' a minute," blustered Hagrid, but Harry had already scrawled out his address.

Harry Potter

4 Privet Drive

Surrey

Draco stuffed it quickly into his Mokeshin bag, and Hagrid, whose arm had been half outstretched as though to snatch the parchment back, sighed. Only the owner of the belongings could retrieve them from a Mokeshin bag. Draco hid his smirk behind his hand.

"Thanks," said Harry warmly. "My relatives don't really like owls, so maybe you could send yours at night? I'll leave my window open."

The sound that emerged behind Hagrid's beard was unmistakably a growl.

"Sure," said Draco. He handed Harry his own address. "Here's my address. You can owl me if you have any questions about Potions. I'm going to be a Potions Master one day, you know."

"Really? Cool!"

Draco shrugged, but he couldn't help but smile back at Harry's excited grin. "You can owl me whenever, actually," he said, hoping he sounded casual.

"Yeah," said Harry, pushing Draco's address into the pocket of his trousers.

Draco extended his hand formerly and said, "Nice to meet you, Harry."

Hagrid's hand clutched at Harry's shoulder, and Harry had to struggle somewhat to shake Draco's hand. "Nice to meet you, too, Draco."

As Draco walked away he heard Harry say, "Hagrid, how do you send an owl?"

IN WHICH DRACO IS FOURTEEN

Flying by carriage, Draco had decided, was brilliant. When you were on a broom, you had more freedom and speed, but flying by Abraxan horse drawn carriage was traveling in style.

"Draco?"

Draco turned respectfully to his headmistress.

"Hogwarts," said the large woman, smiling.

Draco looked the window and far below him he could see a dark carpet of green butting against a large, dark grey shape. His first impression of Hogwarts was that it was…

"Ugly," sniffed the gorgeous blonde girl on the other carriage bench. "Like a lump of stone," she sniffed derisively.

Madame Maxime chuckled. "It is more impressive from the ground, Fleur."

Fleur looked skeptical.

Draco kept his eye on the castle, which was coming into more detailed perspective as they descended. Harry's descriptions in his letters made the castle sound awe inspiring and like home.

Technically, Draco shouldn't even be in the carriage, but his father, as a Governor of Hogwarts, had arranged for him to be part of Beauxbatons' party. Draco looked across the carriage at Gabrielle, Fleur's younger sister. She shouldn't be there either, but the Delacours were on the Board of Trustees at Beauxbatons. Gabrielle caught his eye, and they shared a small smile as children of powerful parents.

"Which tower did your parents live in, Draco?" asked Fleur, peering more interestedly at the castle.

"Look at the Quidditch Pitch!" breathed Gabrielle.

"They didn't live in a tower," said Draco.

Fleur spared a glance at the Quidditch Pitch. "No shade. The Hogwarts' girls must be covered in freckles." She shuddered, looking infuriatingly attractive. "Where did your parents live then?"

"The Slytherin House is in the dungeons," said Draco coolly.

Fleur made a moue of distaste. "No wonder your parents sent you to Beauxbatons!"

Draco glared at her. "My godfather is the Head of Slytherin House."

Gabrielle urged Fleur to look at the lake, and she turned away from Draco. Draco looked out his own window and saw a crowd in black robes in front of the castle. As the carriage drew closer, he could make out faces, and he scanned the crowd to look for his parents and Harry.

As the ground drew even closer, Draco tore his attention away from the window and to his uniform. He straightened his vest and murmured a spell to put the crease back into his trousers after having been sitting for hours. He wasn't the only one. Fleur was Spelling away the wrinkles from her uniform and Gabrielle's robes. Proud as Draco was to be a Beauxbatons student, he couldn't help but wish that the Triwizard Tournament was taking place in his fifth year. He fiddled uselessly with his ribbons, wistfully imagining they were a tie and cufflinks instead of small bows with long silk sashes.

Madame Maxime's touched her wand to a mirror on the velvet wall of the carriage. Her reflection shimmered for a moment before Prefect Helen's face swam into view. Helen bobbed her head respectfully, waiting for the headmistress to speak.

"Are the students ready, Helen?"

Helen moved out of the frame and the mirror revealed a substantially more cramped carriage filled with Beauxbatons' students. Their uniforms were immaculate, and Draco stared enviously at the older boy's uniforms.

The brightest seventeen year old students Beauxbatons had to offer stood at attention before bowing and curtsying to their headmistress. No one doubted that Fleur Delacour would most likely be Beauxbatons' champion, but one could never be sure who the Goblet of Fire would choose. Draco had a bet going on back at school that if Fleur wasn't chosen, Philip Swanson would be.

Madame Maxime's sparkling eyes looked over each student carefully. Her gaze lingered over Francis Gladtrop.

Francis flushed, and hastily Vanished the polish from her nails in a pink flash.

"Good," said Maxime, and she waved a hand at the mirror to show her own reflection again.

The carriage was only feet off the ground now, and Draco's fingers were moving in a complicated dance in his lap. He stopped when he caught Fleur smirking at him.

Gabrielle laughed with delight when the carriage touched the ground. A Smooth Landing Charm had must have been added to the carriage, Draco thought, because it glided to a stop. Not even the chandelier's crystals rattled.

They could hear murmurs outside of the carriage, and Draco wondered if Harry would be towards the front. He hoped not—Draco's parents were undoubtedly towards the front, and Harry didn't much like his father.

His felt as though a hundred Blibbering Humdingers were flying around in his stomach. Madame Maxime flicked her wand at the door, and right October sunlight flooded the carriage.

"Dumbledore," said Madame Maxime in a warm rumble as she met the Hogwarts' headmaster outside.

"Draco," hissed Fleur, her face gorgeous even in annoyance.

A whoosh of breath that he hadn't known he'd been holding escaped Draco. He followed the Delacour sisters out of the carriage to stand with the rest of Beauxbatons' students behind Madame Maxime.

Hundreds of Hogwarts students stood in front of him. They stared at him, some whispering, and he leveled a bored gaze back at them as he swept the crowd for Harry's face.

The weight of a familiar stare made him turn his head to the left, and he saw his mother standing next to his father. She looked stunning in silver robes, and she wore a sapphire and diamond diadem in her blond hair that threw colored sparkles across her pale skin.

Draco smirked softly. Narcissa Malfoy never did anything by accident. Her colors showed her Beauxbatons loyalty and support for her son, all while being very beautiful of course.

Madame Maxime saw his parents and nodded regally to them before waving her hand to a pair of the winged horses that had drawn the carriage. They had been a present from Draco's parents the year before.

She talked to Hagrid next, and Draco felt an old twinge of bitterness. It had been Hagrid, after all, who had refused to let Harry go to Flourish and Blotts with Draco. That hadn't stopped their friendship, but it had led to the start of a friendship only carried out in letters.

Although they tried to see each other every summer, something had always gotten in the way. Draco and Severus had an epic row about the Dursleys the summer before second year, when Harry wrote to him about the Weasleys flying a car to rescue him from Surrey. After second year, he and Harry barely wrote after Harry accused Lucius of trying to set a basilisk upon the school. That row had been quickly forgotten, however, when Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban. When he found out that Harry was living in Diagon Ally after blowing up an aunt and running away by Knight Bus, Draco had begged Severus to invite Harry to live with them at Severus' manor. Severus had been quite unreasonable, Draco thought, to have gone to every length to avoid Diagon Alley that summer. Last summer, they planned to meet at the Quidditch World Cup. However, the day before the match, Draco, who had been experimenting with potions, exploded a cauldron and doused himself with enough Insomnia Remedy that he slept for a solid week.

It seemed, therefore, almost unbelievable that they were going to meet after so many failed attempts and false starts.

Quite lost in thought, he failed to notice that everyone was heading inside of the castle until someone bumped into him. Draco blinked and hurried inside with the rest of the students.

A hand at his sleeve caught him on the stairs.

"Hi, Draco," said Harry Potter, grinning at him.

Draco's mouth fell open. "You grew! I mean, hi," he said, flustered.

Harry Potter had most certainly changed from who had been as a nervous eleven year old in Madame Malkin's shop.

"This is Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger," said Harry, introducing his friends that stood on either side of him. "Guys, this is Draco Malfoy."

Ron sniggered, and Draco quickly withdrew his hand and instead offered it to Hermione.

"Ron!" growled Harry, looking upset.

Hermione shook his hand and smiled at him. "Don't pay any attention to Ron. He's worried Harry will like you better than him."

"HERMIONE!" exclaimed Ron, his ears very red.

Draco smirked, deciding right then that Hermione was a very likeable person.

Ron sighed. "Just something in my throat was all. Nice to meet you, Draco."

Draco looked coolly at him and didn't say anything.

"Shall we go eat?" suggested Harry, looking somewhat anxiously between Draco and Ron. Ron and Hermione walked on either side of Harry, forcing Draco to walk on Hermione's left. Hermione talked all the way to the dinning tables, and Draco had to quickly maneuver to get between her and Harry. Harry grinned at him and Draco grinned back.

The other Beauxbatons students were sitting at another table, where the students wore blue ties.

Ravenclaws.

Draco had been hoping Harry would be a Ravenclaw and been more than a little disappointed to find out that Harry had joined the sworn enemy of the Slytherin House. Harry had written back to say that the hat wanted to put him in Slytherin, and Draco had been too surprised to chastise Harry for fighting the hat.

"These tables are from the Dark Ages," rang Fleur's silvery voice.

Ron dropped the fork he'd been twirling in his hands and stared at Fleur with a gaping mouth. "Blimey," he gasped, and he elbowed Harry, his body jerking in Fleur's direction like a wriggling newt.

Harry looked up at Fleur and then at Draco. "You never said you had a sister."

Now it was Draco's mouth that hung open. "What? Fleur's not my sister!

"You look like her," said Harry, shrugging.

Draco was flabbergasted. He knew he wasn't hurting in the looks department, but to be told he looked like Fleur Delacour? Part-Veela Fleur who had at least two marriage proposals in her morning mail?

"We're both blonde," he said, grasping at their one similarity.

"Yeah," said Harry, looking closely at Draco's hair. "Silvery—kinda glows. And you're both really—" he stopped himself abruptly, two high spots of color on his cheeks.

"What?" asked Draco, very interested.

"Nothing," said Harry quickly. "How come your uniform's different?"

"Because he's a fourth year," said Hermione in a very knowing fashion. "Fourth years and below wear Draco's uniform, and fifth years and up wear those uniforms: neckties and cufflinks. A customary gift for a boy on his fifteenth birthday is a pair of nice cufflinks, usually handed down from father to son."

"Oh," said Harry.

Ron's eyes were still glued to Fleur.

Madame Maxime's voice filled the room, and every Beauxbatons student stood up.

"What's going on?" asked Ron, who probably only noticed because Fleur had stood.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but it was Harry who explained. "That's their headmistress. They're just being polite."

Lucius and Narcissa were seated at the large table with Madame Maxime and other teachers, and Draco watched Harry's face carefully for any sign of anger.

Harry, however, was paying attention to the ribbons on Draco's sleeve.

"What?" asked Draco, putting his hands in his lap.

"Nothing," said Harry quickly. "Want to see my room after this?"

Hermione spluttered and Harry handed her his glass of pumpkin juice rather forcefully, Draco thought.

"I leave after the feast, actually," said Draco. "Are you getting along any better with Severus this year?"

Harry snorted. "Worse, actually."

Dumbledore made a speech and soon the plates were heaped with food.

"Rotten luck Krum's sitting with the snakes," grumbled Ron.

Draco glared at Ron, who was too busy stuffing his face and staring moodily at Krum to notice.

Throughout the dinner, Harry's hand kept accidentally brushing against Draco's. Draco was somewhat used to this—being left handed often caused a lack of elbow room at the table. They talked Quidditch, traded jokes, Draco told them about Beauxbatons and they told him about Hogwarts, and all too soon dessert was over.

"My Portkey leaves in twenty minutes," sighed Draco, very full on the heavy English food.

"Ron, come with me," said Hermione suddenly, standing up. "Nice to have finally met you, Draco."

Ron's eyes darted between Harry and Draco. "Right," said Ron. "Gotta go. Hermione wants to…ah…be seeing you Draco," he said, sounding flustered.

Draco nodded at them both. Harry had written of Ron's crush on Hermione. Ron had obviously confessed his feelings and Hermione returned them and now they were going to…

"That's nice," he said. "Ron and Hermione I mean."

Harry looked nervous. "Sorry. They were being kind of obvious weren't they."

Draco arched an eyebrow. "You'd have to blind not to have seen that," he said.

Harry licked his lips. "Sorry about that. Hermione's got it into her head that I—"

"Don't like seeing them snog?" finished Draco sympathetically.

Harry looked taken aback for a moment. "Yeah," he said slowly.

'I'm right in saying that Hermione's the dominating one, aren't I?"

Harry made a croaking sound.

They joined the throng of students leaving the room. "I have to meet my parents pretty soon," said Draco, checking his watch.

"Want to go outside first?" asked Harry.

"Okay," said Draco, letting Harry lead them out the great front doors.

"Hogwarts is nice," said Draco after several minutes of sitting silently on the steps. The light flooded behind them and cast a glitter on the lake.

"Hm," agreed Harry, who seemed to be concentrating on something very hard.

Draco sighed and hugged his knees to his chest, a little chilly in his silk uniform in the October night air. A breeze fluttered his hair and the sash to his ribbon at his throat brushed against his cheek. He wondered if the absence of conversation between them was because Harry felt comfortable with him or because they didn't know how to speak to one another except for on paper.

That thought depressed Draco.

"I should probably get going," he said after another minute of silence.

Harry looked startled. "What? You said you had fifteen minutes."

"It's almost been that," pointed out Draco.

Harry muttered something too low for Draco to hear. "I wish you could have stayed longer," he said finally.

Draco grimaced. "I know." He sighed. "You'll tell me who the champions are as soon as you know, right? I have a bet going on, you know."

"I will," promised Harry.

"Maybe Dumbledore will let you spend Christmas with us?"

"I'll ask," said Harry.

And then he was kissing both of Draco's cheeks, his lips soft and warm against Draco's cool skin.

Draco pulled away, blushing furiously. "W-what?" he sputtered, shocked.

"Isn't that how you say goodbye in France?" asked Harry, looking rather pleased.

Draco's face was very red. He could feel heat burning on his cheeks where Harry had kissed him. "Yes," he said, his voice very breathy, and he blushed harder.

Later, just before the Portkey tugged at his navel, he'd remember that Harry had sounded too innocent and very pleased with himself.

TBC

A/N: So... how'd you like it? The next chapter is almost ready, a week a most, but more like this coming weekend. Let me know what you liked, and what you'd like to see more/less of.

And also, Question: If you had to be an animal for a day, what would you be and why?


	2. Chapter 2

IN WHICH DRACO IS FOURTEEN AND BLUSHES

::

Harry's unexpected French flare still had Draco blushing as he walked back into Hogwarts to meet his parents before his Portkey was due. He could feel the heat spreading across his cheeks, and he took deep breaths through his teeth, trying to force down the flush before anyone saw him.

He didn't even really know why he was flustered about it. Tons of people kissed on the cheek in France! But hadn't Harry lingered a bit longer than normal? Was that because Harry didn't have a lot of experience giving a French greeting?

"Gah," he muttered, flushing harder. Why was he even thinking about this? He tugged on the ribbon at his left cuff, a nervous habit he had never seemed to be able to kick.

And when had Harry gotten so tall and…and built? Draco himself was only slim 165.82cm. He supposed it was foolish to still think of Harry as the eleven-year-old boy he met at Madame Malkins, but he hadn't seen a picture of Harry since that day, and so eleven-year-old Harry was how he had been thinking of him.

_Well not anymore_.

Maybe he should spend more time on his broom than leaning over a cauldron. Experimentally, he flexed his muscles. They barely twitched. Definitely more time flying was needed.

Draco sighed. He knew he took after his mother, and no amount of exercise or nutrient potion was going to turn him into the picture of rugged virility that Harry was projecting, but that didn't mean Draco couldn't improve his muscle tone.

At least Harry's messy hair hadn't changed. It was still short and untamed. Draco ran a hand over his own hair, which was pulled off his face in a low ponytail at the nape of his neck.

Harry thought he looked like Fleur?

He smiled.

"Draco."

"Severus!" said Draco, startled as his godfather stepped into sight in the dimly lit hallway. He hoped he hadn't been caught flexing, or worse, _blushing_. "What are you doing here?"

Severus arched an eyebrow and made an expansive gesture with his hands to the castle. "Working," he said dryly.

Draco winced. Severus despised it when he asked stupid questions. "How are you? I saw you at the feast."

"You sat with Potter and his sidekicks," said Severus, ignoring his question. "The conversation must have been scintillating," he drawled. The flickering light from the wall torches cast shadows over his sneering face.

Draco drew himself up to his full height and looked his godfather in the eye. "It was _brilliant_," he said, drawing out the vastly overused and completely British adjective. "I told them all about Beauxbatons, and they told me about Hogwarts—not that there's much I didn't already know from spending summers with you of course, but it great to see Harry again. "

"I'm sure," said Severus deadpanned. He pulled a vial out from his robes and held it by its slender neck in front of him. "I've tested the potion you sent me for your term project."

"The base for the Apparentia Duerme Potion," said Draco excitedly, stepping closer. "Finally! It's taken you weeks!"

Severus' face hardened, and Draco hastily grabbed the vial from him before the Potions Master thought to drop it. He held the potion against the dim light and peered at it closely. "What are these bubbles from?" he demanded. "They weren't there when I sent this to you."

Severus glowered at him before answering. "Idiot boy. You used Chysis in the potions, did you not?"

A sinking feeling settling into his stomach. He wanted to believe it was the English food, but Severus' scowl told him otherwise. He fingered the beaker in his hands, staring at the small but damnable bubbles in the otherwise perfectly clear solution.

"You harvested the Chysis petals in the morning, yet you no doubt waited to add them until the evening. I'm sure some pressing matter prevented you from brewing the petals for, what, at least nine hours, judging by the number of bubbles," said Severus, his voice a low rumble of contempt.

Draco had always thought that his godfather was born with a special talent for humiliating people. Perhaps it was the register of his voice when he splayed Draco's flaws wide open for masterful vivisection.

"Well, Draco?"

Reluctantly, Draco looked up as he nodded—Severus _deplored _lack of eye contact.

"Tell me, Draco," demanded Severus, his voice scalding and nostrils nostrils flaring. "Did you even _read_ the Aikaterine dissertation on the role of lunar cycles in harvesting and brewing potions ingredients?"

Draco flushed. The massive tome Severus had given him for his ninth birthday flashed into his mind.

"Morning harvest and evening brewing of a flower as sensitive as the Chysis? Are you always this incompetent or do you save these episodes of Hufflepuff-Gryffindor idiocy just for me?"

"Portkey," Draco mumbled, trying to slink away. He hastily pocketed the ruined potion in his uniform. Normally, he never put anything in his pockets, which were silk and bulged most unattractively when he stuffed things inside of them, but extraordinary measures were called for.

Severus' dark eyes glittered above his smirk. "And why were you blushing earlier?"

"See you this summer!" called Draco hastily, running quickly towards the Great Hall, not at all willing to subject himself to another lecture from his godfather if he could help it.

Stupid, stupid, stupid he berated himself. Now he'd have to start all over again. It was October and the potion was due in May. He'd been so sure that he was well ahead of his peers, confident that he'd be fighting the government on securing the patent for his potion while everyone else in the class would be struggling to even name their brews.

He squeezed the vial in his pocket. Apparentia Duerme. The name sailed dreamily into his mind, like the vapors from a simmering cauldron. Severus had repeatedly drilled into him that Potions was a precise science, and Draco agreed. Marketing potions, however, as his father had told him, was an _art_. Names, bottles, labels—even the quality of the stopper and seals around the cork—all _mattered_ to making it in the cutthroat industry of potions.

Apparentia Duerme was the perfect title for the reinvention of the traditional Polyjuice Potion. Even Severus had been begrudgingly impressed by Draco's idea to create a potion that could reveal what one may have looked like with a different combination of one's very own genetics.

It had been Harry who had inspired the potion after a glib comment in a letter wishing that he could alter his genes to be taller and have flatter hair. Draco hadn't known what genes were, and interrogated Severus about the subject with a barrage of owls until the man had given him a copy of Gregor Mendel's works.

That summer, Draco had very nearly exhausted his book allowance buying Muggle authored books on genetics. Luckily, his mother had doubled his stipend after Madame Maxime had personally firecalled his parents to laud Draco's grades.

Since then, Draco became very familiar with owl order book catalogues. Severus had been quite cross to clear a shelf for Draco's growing collection of journals, magazine subscriptions, books and dissertations on the matter until Draco had explained his idea to create the Apparentia Duerme potion.

Draco exhaled noisily. Alright, he would have to try again, brewing the Chysis in the morning this time.

Because the potion in his pocket was _useless_, as Severus had made abundantly clear.

The doors to the Great Hall stood firm and solemn in front of him. He wished rather fiercely to set fire to them to vent his frustrations. He was sure, however, that not even his father could smooth over the public relations disaster _that _would cause—Malfoy and Hogwarts Governor or not.

Frustrated, Draco pulled open the doors.

"Draco," called a familiar throaty voice. Madame Maxime stood in a small circle with his parents and Dumbledore near the Goblet of Fire.

It took considerable effort not to stomp over to them, but stomping wasn't quite the done thing when you were fourteen, and he managed to resist the temptation. A handful of Hogwarts students hovering around the age line surrounding the Goblet of Fire, looked at him curiously as he passed, and one girl murmured something to another behind her hand.

He was used to looks like theirs whenever he was in England—people stopping and staring, whispering or outright glaring at him as he walked by them.

While he wasn't welcomed as a native in France, at least he wasn't treated with the fearful politeness or barely muffled indignation that waited for him in England each summer. In France, he was just the scion of a wealthy expatriate couple.

It was at times like these that he knew that the only reason he ever returned to England was because Severus flat out refused to take his parents up on their offer for the château in Nice. What his godfather possibly found appealing about England bewildered Draco. He knew that Severus received much the same warmth that Draco did, even less considering how many students Severus had terrorized.

He had to bite his lip to suppress a smirk.

"Headmistress," he said politely. "Mother. Father." He turned to Dumbledore. "Sir."

"Headmaster, this is my son, Draco," said Lucius. "Draco, this is Headmaster Dumbledore."

"How do you do, sir?" asked Draco quite conscious that he was talking to a man that Harry so greatly admired. He was determined to make a good impression.

"Very well, thank you. How do you like Hogwarts, Mr. Malfoy?" asked Dumbledore, peering at him over half moon glasses.

"Very well, sir," he said respectfully. He studied Dumbledore. His father did not…care for Dumbledore's ways or views. Draco had never paid much attention to his father's remarks on the man until it had become impossible to have Harry come for vacation or even arrange a visit. He had a feeling that Dumbledore had been the one with the final say on Harry's summer plans—the Dursley's didn't give two figs what Harry did as long as he was not their problem. This was an important opportunity to change Dumbledore's opinion on letting Harry come for a visit.

"Good, good!" said Dumbledore cheerfully, his blue eyes twinkling at him. "I'm glad to hear that you like it. It's not always to everyone's taste."

Madame Maxime laughed. "It's so dark, Dumbledore," she said in her booming voice. "Skylights would transform those tunnels of hallways."

Draco agreed. Skylights would protect students from professors hiding in the shadows waiting to ambush them and scorning their complete and utterly humiliating failures in potions…

Dumbledore smiled. "We are what we are," he said. "We cannot always change that." He glanced up at the magical ceiling to the Great Hall. "And Hogwarts is very different in daylight from what she is at night."

"I remember Hogwarts vividly, Headmaster," said his mother, her voice clear and bright in their small circle. "Slytherin dormitories were the same in the night as they were in the day. There were no windows there. Has that changed?"

Draco's interest rose. His mother rarely reminisced about her school days.

"There have been no architectural changes to Hogwarts since Hagrid's home was built," said Dumbledore serenely. "Would both of you and your son like to see the Slytherin House again? You'll no doubt be pleased to find everything is just as it was when you were a student, Lady Malfoy."

Lucius, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, smiled coolly. "Thank you, Headmaster, but another time perhaps. Draco has a Portkey soon."

"In a few minutes," affirmed Madame Maxime. She handed Draco a book of sonnets. "Here, Draco. You have everything? You have had a good time seeing your English friends again, no?"

"Yes, Headmistress," said Draco. It had been great to see Harry again, and he wished that he had more time to spend at Hogwarts. It might have even been fun to stay the night in Gryffindor Tower, a place Harry had written pages and pages about. Draco rather wanted to see the acclaimed Fat Lady.

Narcissa put her hand on her husband's arm. "What a pity about Slytherin not having windows—at least the enchanted ones at the Ministry. Perhaps one that shows the grounds? I rather think the Slytherins of today would rather see more than the same stone their parents saw, and some light would do the Common Room a world of good."

Draco rolled his eyes. He'd heard a similar lecture from his mother and godfather at least four times a year. The metaphors varied—and Draco rather liked the windows and light one she'd used this time—but the meaning remained the same: every person is responsible for their own fate because no one should be fated to follow in another's footsteps. Clearly, his mother thought Dumbledore was prejudiced against Slytherin.

The conversation was becoming tedious to Draco, and he looked around the Great Hall for Gabrielle, but she was not there. He wondered if she had been trampled by the herd of desperate Hogwarts boys vying after her sister. He suppressed a sneer. He was rather proud of the fact that he had never made a fool of himself trying to win her affections like his friends.

He only tuned back into the conversation when his father spoke again. "I'll propose the addition of windows at the next governors' meeting. I'm certain the bylaws don't prohibit a few changes if it would improve things."

"No need, Mr. Malfoy," said Dumbledore, his face contemplative. "It would be no trouble to add them myself."

"Lovely," said Narcissa, her eyes sparkling. "May I suggest an Eastern vantage point? Morning light is beautiful, and many Slytherins, like Severus, are early risers."

Lucius put his hand on Draco's shoulder. "Did you see your godfather?" he asked.

Draco nodded. "Yes, we met in the hallway before coming in. We discussed my term project."

"A Potions project, I assume?" asked Dumbledore affably. He turned to Madame Maxime, who had been watching the exchange between the Malfoys and Dumbledore with casual interest. "Mr. Malfoy's godfather is my Potions Master, Severus Snape."

"Yes," said Madame Maxime, her lips twitched. "Draco's told me much about him." Her eyes glinted. "If only more students had relatives like Professor Snape, they too could develop superior skills. We should talk more about a faculty exchange, Dumbledore. I've said many times that it would strengthen magical cooperation between our countries."

"Yes, yes," said Dumbledore. His eyes twinkled. "What is your project, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco suppressed a sigh. He hated when people feigned an interest in Potions and didn't understand what he was talking about. People never cared about how one made a potion—they were only concerned with what it did and how terribly it tasted. His father squeezed his shoulder, and Draco reluctantly answered. "It's a version of the Polyjuice Potion, sir, that uses one's own genetic material as the catalyst for change instead of someone else's. Rather than taking on another's appearance, your features transform into what another expression of your genes could look like."

"Draco is very clever," said Madame Maxime proudly. She nodded approvingly at her pupil. "He's top of his year."

"Congratulations," said Dumbledore politely. "Much like our Hermione Granger."

Lucius shifted his weight on his feet, and Draco remembered that Hermione had been Petrified and Harry thought his father had something to do with that.

"Thank you," said Draco, his impatience stirring. Where was Gabrielle? He scanned the Great Hall again, but the only people who were in there was a scowling old man and his scruffy cat.

"Each time your appearances will change, correct? Even if you add your own essence to the same batch of potion your appearance will be unique each time, or have you found an way to control the expression?" asked Dumbledore, genuine curiosity in his voice.

Draco blinked. He'd forgotten that Dumbledore had discovered the thirteenth use for dragon's blood and was a leading authority on Potions. Although the man had been dormant for many years in Potions journals and texts, who knew what the man could whip up if desired.

"I am still working on the base," said Draco, humbled. "Right now I'm concentrating on making a foundation that will react to an extract from my body without dissolving it. I've substituted Chysis for fluxweed."

"Draco has been studying with Severus every summer since he was eight," said Lucius, pride warming his voice. "He'll be apprenticingnwith Severus during his seventh year."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rows. "Very impressive," he said.

"Severus sees a lot of himself in Draco," said Narcissa, her voice a shade warmer now that Slytherin would be getting windows. "He has always been very active in Draco's life."

Madame Maxime nodded. "Lovely."

Dumbledore looked inquisitively at him, and Draco wondered what the wizard was thinking. "Yeah, he's been really great," he said lamely, wanting to fill the awkward silence.

"I have no doubt," said Dumbledore quietly. "I hold Professor Snape in highest regard. I'm glad that you were able to see him before you return to school."

Madame Maxime nodded. "Your Portkey leaves in one minute, Draco," she said in her gravely voice.

"What about Gabrielle?" asked Draco.

"Gabrielle is spending the night with her sister," said Madame Maxime.

Draco clenched his teeth. Gabrielle got to spend the night but not he? Even though Gabrielle and Fleur were sisters, why hadn't he been offered the same opportunity? He and Harry hadn't seen each other in _years_, and not for lack of trying.

Darkly, he wondered if Madame Maxime had proposed the idea but Dumbledore had decided against it. Lucius' disparaging remarks about the man's prejudice against Slytherins flew to the forefront of his mind. Severus himself had told Draco numerous stories of "his snakes" being treated unfairly and the Gryffindors given special privileges.

He could feel his temper burning in the bottom of his stomach, something that only happened when he was well and truly furious, and he tried to force himself to calm down. Dumbledore might have never been approached about letting Draco spend the night, and even if Madame Maxime had asked, Dumbledore hadn't ever met him, he admitted. Now that they had been formally introduced and Dumbledore seemed to rather like him….

An idea came to Draco, and knowing that he had seconds before the Portkey activated, he blurted, "Sir, can Harry spend Christmas with us instead of at Hogwarts this year?"

Narcissa's eyes widened fractionally, and Lucius' face went blank. Madame Maxim did not say anything but rather looked expectantly at Dumbledore.

"I'm not sure what Harry's plans are for Christmas, Mr. Malfoy," said Dumbledore, his voice kind.

"Draco, we've been invited to New Zealand," began his mother, placing a hand on his arm

"But if Harry wants to?" asked Draco, his voice more challenging than he would have liked it to be. It would be obvious to everyone now, how badly he wanted this. Unexpectedly, he remembered Harry's self-satisfied smile after he said goodbye. "We don't get to see each other often, and it would be really fun!"

Dumbledore and Lucius opened their mouths at the same time, but before either could answer, a tugging sensation pulled at Draco's navel. The Great Hall compressed into spinning wheels of color, and he felt as though every inch of the distance between Hogwarts and Beauxbatons was being filtered through his very bones as the Portkey took him away.

The world continued to spin when he arrived at the reception chamber in Beauxbatons. His stomach rolled dangerously, and he recited the ingredients to the Stomach Calming Draught until he found his equilibrium.

He hated Portkeys, and he wished that he could have taken the carriage back home.

He ran his hands through his hair, mussing up his ponytail. He was beyond frustrated that he hadn't gotten a clear answer out of Dumbledore about whether Harry could come for Christmas.

And what was all that about going to New Zealand he wondered. That was the first he'd heard about it. Though it wasn't uncommon for his parents to announce surprise trips, Draco couldn't remember ever a Christmas where they hadn't gone to Switzerland for skiing. It would be summertime in New Zealand, and he knew for a fact that his father loved snow at Christmas time.

Harry had never gone skiing, and Draco had really been looking forward to it this year after the blistering hot summer.

He sighed. He'd write to Harry and tell him to ask Dumbledore about Christmas vacation soon.

It was late, however, and he needed to get back to his dormitory before curfew.

As he walked through the hallways from the reception chamber to his dormitory, he thought about how different Hogwarts was from Beauxbatons. Hogwarts' house structure fascinated him, and he wondered if he would have been a Slytherin like his parents or have gone into Gryffindor with Harry.

Like Hogwarts, Beauxbatons had houses. Instead of the houses being defined by character traits the founders were known for, however, Beauxbatons houses were organized by academics.

There was not a magical hat that sorted the students, rather an innate magical abilities test that they took after they graduated from Beauxbaton's primary school for children under eleven. The test detected natural affinity and potential in the different subjects Beauxbatons offered, and placed them in one of the four houses.

Draco thought this system was more logical than Hogwarts. Who wanted their character and personality to be labeled at eleven and then stereotyped for the rest of his life? In their seventh year they could apprentice with someone and learn more about career options with their talents.

While they all took the general education requirements for examinations at the end of sixth year, each house took additional electives in their houses' academic focuses.

It came as no surprise to Draco that he had had been placed in Chemeia house. Chemeia was the Greek etymological origin for the word alchemy, and as such was concerned with the science behind deconstructing magical properties found in all things and joining them together to create mixtures with magical effects.

"Draco!" called a voice, shaking him from his thoughts.

Draco looked down the hallway and saw a familiar figure. His friend Madeleine Guise and a fellow Chemeia waved at him, her blonde curls swaying as she rocked on her heels. "How was Hogwarts?" she asked curiously, her blue eyes excited. "How's Harry?"

"Lots of stone and tapestries," replied Draco, smiling back. Madeleine had been one of the first people he had met at Beauxbatons, and they had been friends since their first Potions class. "And Harry's good. I met his friends, and we sat at his table at dinner, and then we went outside…"

Madeleine's laugh cut him off. "Wait!" she said jokingly. "Tell me everything inside."

Draco rolled his eyes. He tapped his wand on the door to the dormitory. "Macha," he said, and the door unlocked. "Anyway, I should just tell you everything in English so that you can practice."

Madeleine muttered something under her breath as they walked into the salon. Her mother had been pressing her to learn English ever since she found out Draco was fluent, but Madeleine had little patience for mastering a language when she could use a translation spell. Draco supposed it was a practical approach. He himself had been forced to learn it without magic, at his mother's insistence.

"Anyone fool can wave his wand and cast a translation spell, Draco," she had said after he complained about the French tutoring. "If you want to own a skill, you must master it."

People looked up from their homework and conversations when they entered the salon.

A third year boy was the first to ask, "What's Hogwarts like?"

"What's Harry Potter like?"

"Who's our champion?"

"Hogwarts is nice, but Beauxbatons is better," said Draco loyally and truthfully. While Hogwarts was an impressive castle, Beauxbatons was a gorgeous palace. The others nodded as though they themselves had seen Hogwarts for comparison and found it lacking. "The champions are being picked tomorrow night…"

"Don't forget our bet, Malfoy," said Gad, a dark haired sixth year.

Draco nodded. "Harry's going to write me as soon as he finds out who the champions are."

"It's going to be Fleur," said Madeleine confidently. "Even Madame Maxime thinks so."

After answering everyone's questions about Hogwarts, he finally had a chance to pull Madeleine aside and show her the Apparentia Duerme base.

She was perhaps the only person in the house he trusted to talk to about his term project—she was completely absorbed in her philter for nullifying the effect of Veela phermones. Draco thought that it was an ambitious project, but at least she wouldn't be trying to steal his research.

"It's useless," he said, his voice nearly trembling as she examined his potion.

Madeleine looked at him sympathetically. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Draco. There are still more Chysis growing in greenhouse."

"But I've lost time!" he said, distressed. "And it takes a month alone to make the normal Polyjuice, and I'm not sure if the Chysis is even going to work with the other ingredients."

"Draco, it's going to work," said Madeleine. "Professor Moreau looked at your proposed ingredient list and approved it."

"And so did Severus," said Draco, feeling marginally better.

"Exactly. Just wait until you've brewed the new base before you start thinking that the apocalypse is nigh." She tugged his ponytail. "Stop being so self absorbed and ask me about my potion.

Draco smiled. "How's yours going?"

"The Veela pheromones keep overpowering the Re'em blood," she said darkly.

"Isn't that the sixth nullifier you've tried?"

Madeleine's eyes flashed, and Draco quickly said, "I had dinner with Harry."

"How was it?"

"Good. It was nice to see him again. And after dinner we went outside and talked. And then we said goodbye." His voice trailed off, and a familiar blush started to crawl across his cheeks.

"You're blushing!" exclaimed Madeleine, looking stunned. "What happened?"

"Nothing!" denied Draco hotly. "He just said goodbye!"

"Ok," said Madeleine, looking at him with disbelief. "Are you going to spend Christmas together?"

He shrugged. "Don't know yet. I asked Dumbledore if he could come, and my mother said that we'd been invited to New Zealand."

"Dumbledore!" said Madeleine, impressed. "You got to talk with him? Did you ask him about his work with dragon's blood?"

Draco resisted rolling his eyes. And people thought he was obsessed with potions? He knew she would not be pleased if she found out that he'd completely forgotten about Dumbledore's prowess because he'd been caught up in thinking about how to get Harry to come for Christmas, she would not be amused.

"There wasn't time," he said vaguely.

"Oh," she said, looking disappointed. "New Zealand? I thought you go skiing in Switzerland every year."

"We do! It was strange," said Draco, gladly returning to the subject that was most pressing for him. "It's just been impossible getting to see him. Maybe Harry could come with us to New Zealand."

"Who do you think will be the Hogwarts and Durmstrang champion?" asked Madeleine, changing the subject

Draco shrugged. "I didn't really meet any other Hogwarts students. But I think Durmstrang's will be Krum."

"Well, Harry will tell you tomorrow," said Madeleine, sitting down on the chaise lounge. "Anyway, at lunch, Jean asked Irène to the Halloween Fête and she turned him down. Now he's saying that he's going to transfer schools."

Draco smirked. "That's what he gets for waiting until the day before. Who is she going with?"

"Laurent," said Madeleine. "They're going as Romeo and Juliet."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Original," he said drly.

"I'm going with Gaston as Aphrodite and Adonis. And you?"

Draco smirked. "You know I don't date," he said loftily, braiding the ends of his ponytail. "And my costume is a surprise."

Madeleine gave an unladylike snort. "Waiting for your knight in shining armor?" she teased.

An unbidden memory of Harry's lips pressed against his cheek came to his mind. This blushing nightmare was quite bizarre and most inconvenient.

"No," he said, more to himself than to Madeleine.

"You're blushing again!"

"I'm going to bed!" said Draco, getting up before her laughing attracted any attention to them. "See you in the morning."

"Sweet dreams," called Madeleine, laughing. "You know I'm going to find out who your crush is!"

"I don't have a crush!" replied Draco, annoyed, and he hurried up the stairs to the fourth year's rooms.

Madeleine was occasionally ridiculous, but he tried to overlook it. They had been friends for a long time, after all, and she was his favorite study partner. She was delusional, though, if she thought that he had a crush on someone.

It wasn't that he wasn't interested in sex—he was a teenage boy, after all—but he couldn't see himself dating anyone. He was too focused on his studies for such distractions!

How Madeleine found time to flirt and read all of the additional literature their professors referenced was beyond him. Darkly, he wondered if she had a time turner and wasn't sharing it.

He shook his head. Madeleine wouldn't hoard something like that. She'd always been very generous with him, and he was glad they were friends. They were, he supposed as he brushed his teeth, best friends.

Seeing Harry and his best friends made him realize that's what he and Madeleine were, even if they had never said so openly. He and Madeleine ate together, studied together, and when Maxime allowed them to go into Marseille on the occasional day trip, they always went together.

Draco washed his face, dried it with a powder blue Beauxbatons' towel, and looked at himself in the mirror. He tried to find the resemblance Harry saw between him and Fleur. He had high cheekbones and pale creamy skin and grey blue eyes from his mother. From his father, he had his sharp jaw, full lips, and, of course, the Malfoy platinum blonde hair.

Remembering Harry's comment about his hair, he pulled his hair free from the band and let it fall across his shoulders.

He studied himself with his hair loose.

The effect was striking, he admitted. Somehow, rather than looking more like his father, he looked more like his mother. He rather liked how his shoulder length hair framed his face, and he idly wondered what his friends would say if he went to breakfast tomorrow with his hair down.

"Very attractive," said his mirror.

"Thanks," said Draco.

"You should leave it like that tomorrow."

"I'm thinking about it," said Draco. "It's Saturday."

"Perfect," the mirror faintly purred. "And the Halloween Fête. What are you going as?"

Draco smirked as he thought of his costume. "You'll see," he said, in rather a good mood.

"Tease."

"Inanimate object."

The mirror was silent, and Draco left for bed.

He pulled on his favorite pajamas—dark blue with silver cauldrons—and climbed into bed where he would, he told himself sternly, cure himself of this nonsensical blushing before morning.

TBC


End file.
